The Summer After
by Miss Effie
Summary: Harry returns to the Dursleys’ after the horrid events of his sixth year. He tries to cope with the loss of Sirius. With help from his friends and a little self exploration, Harry might be able to survive The Summer After.
1. Return to the Dursleys\'

**Summary: **Harry returns to the Dursleys' after the horrid events of his sixth year. He tries to cope with the loss of Sirius. With help from his friends and a little self exploration, Harry might be able to survive The Summer After.

**A/N**: I know you're all probably thinking, "What is she doing taking on _another _fic when she has two others not even near completion?" All I can say in my defense is that I'm a writer, and when a new idea bursts into my head, I will not repress it. Plus, I really need to branch out from the happy-ever-after love stories. So, this is the result. Hope you enjoy it. Please, take the time to review after reading; since this is my first real angst fic, I really want feedback on it so I know what I'm doing wrong or right. Thanks. I have the next chapter written, so I will update after…ten reviews. That's not too hard.

**Disclaimer: **All right, a small pop quiz for those reading.

Who is not JKR?

A) Miss Effie

B) The Pope

C) All of the above

Answer: C

Chapter One

Return to the Dursleys

For once in his life, Harry was glad to step through the front door of the Dursley home. He set down his trunks and sighed, gazing around at the matching floral print upholstery in the living room.

"Move out of the ruddy way!" He heard Uncle Vernon say behind him. Then, there was a painful pause before he added, "Please."

The faintest of smiles flickered across Harry's face. The memory of the confrontation at platform nine and three quarters must still be fresh in Uncle Vernon mind. Good. Harry picked up his heavy trunks and trudged up the stairs to his room. He set them down on the floor next to his bed, shut the door and allowed himself to fall backwards onto his cool sheets. He lay there, thinking…or, rather, trying not to think. He tried to clear his head of all thoughts of the events that had recently passed at the Department of Mysteries, only, he couldn't. Every single detail was still painstakingly fresh in his mind—the smell, the colors…the pain. Shaking his head, Harry sat up. He reached for his trunk and pulled out a worn copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Sighing, he opened it and began reading. Quickly he realized that this book was not going to provide the distraction he needed. He threw it down and reached for his homework. Perhaps this would absorb him…it usually did. Once again, Harry was disappointed. Even in the midst of rambling on about the introduction of the Goblin Protection Act of 1923 and its impact on the wizarding world, he would still find himself recalling the confused, pained look on Sirius' face as he fell…the dead silence after his body had fallen through the mysterious curtain….

_Tap…tap…tap…_

Harry looked up, startled by the noise. He looked out his window, and saw Errol suspended in mid-air, looking in and occasionally tapping the window with his beak. Harry wondered how long he had been there. He opened his window, and Errol flew in, clunking down exhaustedly on Harry's desk. Hedwig immediately began making a fuss at the presence of another owl.

"Shut up, you ruddy bird!" Harry exclaimed, irritably. Hedwig immediately stopped, and looked at Harry, obviously hurt by this outbreak. Harry didn't make any move to apologize to his loyal pet, but instead turned to the letter that Errol had brought him. Picking it up, he looked for clues as to the sender. Judging by the old parchment and the wonky seal, Harry determined it was from Ron. He opened it.

_Harry,_

_Hello, mate. I hope you've settled in well and that the Dursleys haven't given you any trouble. I can't believe its summer already. Well, hopefully you'll be able to come to the Burrow soon, eh? So…just owl me back. Keep your chin up._

_-Ron_

Harry looked in disgust at the letter. It had been no more than five hours since Harry last saw Ron. He never sent him letters this quickly before. He assumed that Mrs. Weasley had been worried about him, and had employed Ron to send him a letter. Keep your chin up? They probably all assumed he had begun his plans to kill himself. _Hmm, what would it be with?_ they were all wondering. What could poor Harry use to end his miserable life? Harry crumpled the letter in his fist. Let them think that he was dead. Let them think whatever they wanted. He didn't care anymore. He let Errol back out of the window. Errol hovered uncertainly before flying off; he was probably wondering where the return letter was. He let Hedwig out as well. He couldn't stand her accusing look. He lay back on his bed and stared at the off white ceiling until, far into the night; he closed his eyes and allowed his exhausted body some reprieve.

Suddenly, Harry opened his eyes. Glancing at the clock next to his bed, he discovered that it was three o'clock in the afternoon. Surprised that the Dursleys hadn't awoken him yet, he rolled out of bed and put on a pair of ripped jeans and a black shirt three sizes too big for him. Stumbling downstairs, he ran into Dudley. Dudley just looked at him, and then yelled down the stairs, "Mum! He's up!" and then to Harry, "You've got chores to do, freak. Don't think just because your ickle godfather died, you'll get off easy. Bet it was his fault he croaked anyway."

Without blinking an eye, Harry pulled back his fist and made contact with his cousin's pudgy face. Dudley teetered and fell backwards, clutching his bleeding nose. The loud thud Dudley's huge bulk made when it hit the floor attracted his mother's attention.

"What was th—" said Aunt Petunia, stopping once she saw her son. "Dudley!" she shrieked, running up the stairs to where he lay. Harry turned around and walked back up the stairs, ignoring Aunt Petunia's threats and protests. He opened the door to his room, shut it, and sat down on a chair. He listened to the madness unfold, his head in his hands.

"I'll sort this out!" he heard Uncle Dursley proclaim. This statement was followed by heavy footsteps up the stairs and up to right outside Harry's bedroom. The door swung open on its hinges and revealed a very red, very disgruntled Vernon Dursley. "What have you got to say for yourself!" Harry, assuming this was a rhetorical question, and not really wanting to talk anyway, didn't say a word. "That's what I thought. You…you…" stuttered Uncle Dursley as he tried to think of a horrible punishment. "If you expect to be let out of this room _once _this summer, then you're in for a big surprise!" Harry looked at his uncle, examining each fat roll, each blemish, completely unimpressed by his threat.

"Oh, I think you'll let me do just about anything I want to," replied Harry, relishing the change of Uncle Vernon's face from red to purple. "Unless, of course, you'd like me to write a letter to my friends…" He looked pointedly at his parchment and quill. Vernon spluttered, turned a dark shade of violet and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Harry was alone again, just as he liked it. With this new power over the Dursleys, he knew that he would have a completely uninterrupted summer, which was exactly what he wanted.

Harry was amazed at how numb he felt. Even when Dudley had insulted Sirius, all Harry felt was a slight annoyance at his cousin's existence. He punched him because that was his automatic response…just like when everyone had flooded him with worried "How are you?"s, he had automatically said "fine" when in all honesty, Harry wasn't fine. He wasn't bad, he was good, he wasn't happy or sad or angry…he was just…there.

But whenever he thought about Sirius, it was like he had a slight remembrance of what used to be filling the empty void inside of him. For ten seconds, he could remember what it felt like to care, to love, to live. Then, in a flash, it was gone, and all that was left was a slight ache that he had had ever since That Day.

Two weeks of Harry's summer passed in this lethargic manner. He would go to bed early, sleep late, and then creep downstairs and grab enough food for the day. In his room, he would entertain himself with reading, finishing his homework (and doing extra work) and throwing his toy Snitch in the air and catching it, for hours on end. He would also sit in his chair, look out the window, and allow his mind to wander. Usually, it wandered to thoughts of his godfather, which usually made Harry angry, or even more depressed, or bleary-eyed, until he would finally fall back on his bed in exhaustion.

One day, Harry was about to take his mid-afternoon nap when he noticed Errol at his window again. Recalling his anger at Ron's concern in his last letter, Harry felt a little guilty. He quickly opened the window, allowed Errol in, and made sure the owl was comfortable before sitting down to read Ron's newest letter. Upon opening it, Harry quickly realized it was not from Ron at all, but from Hermione.

_Harry,_

_I have been staying at the Burrow for a few weeks before I go off to France with my parents again, so Ron told me all about his letter going unanswered. I just wanted you to know that it gave us all quite a turn. I imagined that was the desired result, and I just wanted to express my disappointment in your childish behavior. _

_Why are you punishing us for what happened? I know you're going through a rough time, Harry. I've suffered a few losses myself. While I don't pretend to know exactly what you feel, I can certainly try to imagine. I know you're probably feeling empty right now or maybe a little bit lost. I hope you realize that no one blames you, and it wasn't your fault for what happened. With that said, I want you to also know that as your friend, I'm ready to be brutally honest with you, and give you some advice._

_Stop punishing yourself and your friends. _

_-Hermione_

Harry gaped at the parchment in his hands. He read it over again and gaped again. Then, filled with the first real anger that he had felt in awhile, he crumpled up the parchment and threw it on the floor in front of his feet. Who in the bloody hell did she think she was? _I know you're going through a rough time, Harry. _She couldn't even fathom the immense sorrow, the immense emptiness that Harry was feeling right now. Knowing Hermione, she probably thought she was an expert because she had read a book about this kind of thing, but nothing that she had experienced in her life came close to this. Had she lost her parents? Hell, Harry didn't even know if her grandparents were dead yet! _I've suffered a few losses myself. _Bollocks! Maybe her pet fish died when she was three, but her godfather? Had he died? The only family she had ever known…did she have to watch them die before her very eyes, knowing in her heart that none of it would have happened had she not been so stupid? So damn "brave"? No! She had never had to experience anything close to that, and here she was, telling him what to do, what to feel…how could she? How could she, how could she…

As Harry repeated that, over and over again, his mind calmed. How could she, how could she, how could she… For an hour or two, he sat there, in his room, repeating those words, letting his mind wander…thinking about his situation and Hermione and everything that had happened.

How could she…how could she…

And then he realized something. She could because she cared about him. She could because she wanted to help, she could because she was his friend, she could because she wanted him to know what she was thinking, she could because she wanted to snap him out of this horrible depression.

That's how she could.

Harry reached down and picked up the parchment, unfolding it slowly. He folded it up and placed it on his desk next to his picture of his parents. Then, he slid a piece of parchment from his pile and put it in front of him. He dipped his quill in ink and began to write.

_Hermione,_

_Thanks._

He paused for a moment, the quill poised, trying to think of the right words to say. Finally, he simply signed it, gave it to Errol and sent him on his way. Remembering his own bird, he stuck his head out the window.

"Hedwig? Hedwig!" he called into the humid summer air. He saw a white fleck in the distance, and he ushered her to come closer. "Hedwig, I'm sorry. Hedwig, come here!" She relented, and flew towards him and into the window. She perched on his desk, and looked at him expectantly. "I'm sorry," he said, as he handed her an owl treat and put her back in her cage. She seemed to be satisfied for the time being and hooted appreciatively.

Harry sat on his bed and then was startled by a loud rumble, which, he realized, was his stomach. He hadn't eaten since yesterday when the Aunt Petunia had slipped a stale, half eaten sandwich underneath his door, and he knew that if he didn't get some food he wouldn't be able to function. He crept out of his room, down the stairs and into the kitchen without running into any of the Dursleys. He opened the refrigerator door and started shuffling around. Finding some lunchmeat and cheese, he made himself two quick sandwiches and ran back upstairs. He ate hungrily, and afterwards realized that he was extremely tired. The emotional strain of the day had been great.

Harry lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. Eventually, he fell into a feverish sleep, his dreams haunted by the memory of Sirius.


	2. Refuge

**A/N**: Well, I did not receive ten reviews, as I had hoped, but only three. Oh well, I will keep my smile on and post again. Hopefully I'll get more reviews! Anyway, thanks to Jerrygirl, tennisaddict107 and LiLy MaLfOy13. Please, keep reviewing!

Chapter Two

Refuge

Harry had sincerely hoped that after the letter Hermione had so kindly sent him, all of his problems would be fixed. He would stop blaming himself, he would stop being apathetic, he would stop thinking of that day and the events that followed. But Harry soon found out it wasn't going to be that easy of a recovery. He woke up midday, with the same sort of thoughts swirling through his head as he had been having before Hermione's letter. Everything seemed the same.

He walked down to the Dursleys' kitchen. Luckily, this time when Dudley saw him, he ran as quickly as he could to where Uncle Vernon was sitting, reading the newspaper. Uncle Vernon looked up at the cause of this sudden disturbance, and flushed when his eyes met Harry's. Harry stood there for several seconds, daring Vernon to do something about his presence. It seemed that Dudley had gotten his cowardliness from his father, for Vernon finally looked down at his newspaper again and let Harry pass without confrontation. Harry continued his walk towards the kitchen and pushed open the door. Aunt Petunia, who was humming to herself while cleaning up the kitchen, jumped and turned around. She pursed her lips and, like her husband, avoided confrontation with Harry, although she made it in no way easy for Harry to make himself breakfast. He took out a bowl; she promptly put it back in its place while Harry was getting milk out of the refrigerator, under the guise of tidying the kitchen. Finally, Harry somehow managed to make himself a bowl of cereal, and he sat down at the table to eat it.

"What day is it?" he asked Aunt Petunia, much to her shock.

"Saturday, July 2," replied Aunt Petunia, sharply. Harry continued to eat his cereal.

"May I have a calendar for my room?" he asked. Aunt Petunia looked extremely annoyed by his persistent questions. She obviously believed that after what had happened yesterday, Harry was supposed to melt out of existence.

"Yes," Aunt Petunia forced out. Clearly, Uncle Vernon had informed his wife to give Harry whatever he wanted, as to avoid a meeting with his wizard friends. Aunt Petunia went into the next room and retrieved a calendar for Harry. Harry was not surprised when it had a countdown to Dudley's birthday on it, and was tempted to complain, but decided he didn't especially want to talk to Aunt Petunia or cause a fuss.

Harry nodded at her, not able to force out a 'thank you.' She was, after all, only doing this because she was scared. Harry exited the kitchen and walked back up to his room. Opening the door, he scanned his prison cell and jumped. There, sitting on his bed, was a hawk. He had left the window open, and this bird must have flown in. Looking at the hawk's leg, he noticed the piece of parchment tied around it. Since he was unsure of the bird's owner, he reached for the letter cautiously. The hawk didn't move, and after Harry had taken the paper, it promptly flew off. Obviously, whoever had sent this letter had not wanted an answer. He opened the parchment and began to read.

_Dear Harry,_

_Due to recent events, we have decided that the Dursleys' home isn't the best place for you to stay. _ _I will be coming to your house by Floo tonight at eight o'clock. Please be ready with your trunks. We can talk then. _

_-Remus_

So, the hawk must have been one of the Order's birds. As soon as Harry finished reading the parchment, it dissolved into the air. Well, it didn't seem like he had much of a choice. Harry suspected they wanted him to be around other people, so they could help him with his grief. Assuming, of course, that the "recent events" Remus was referring to was Sirius' death. Harry grimaced. For the first time ever, he wasn't sure that he wanted to leave the isolation in the Dursleys' home. He sighed wearily and began to pack his up his room.

At seven forty-five, Harry picked up his trunks and Hedwig's cage and awkwardly trudged downstairs. He set everything in front of the fireplace in the living room.

"What's this?" asked Uncle Vernon as he walked into the room. "Leaving, are you?" he added, gleefully.

"Yes," replied Harry. "One of my friends will be coming here to pick me up in about fifteen minutes." Uncle Vernon looked a little less happy.

"One of your…your _magic _people is coming here?"

"Yes, through the fireplace." Uncle Vernon obviously remembered the last time someone had come through the fireplace, because he immediately yelled for Dudley and Aunt Petunia to get their hats and coats.

"Everything had better look the same when I get back, boy," Uncle Vernon wagged a pudgy finger at Harry. "And you had better not be here." And with that, Uncle Vernon waddled out of the room. Harry could hear him telling his wife and son that they were going out for ice cream.

"Whatever for, Vernon?" asked Aunt Petunia.

"I'm hungry!" bellowed Uncle Vernon in response. Then, a few seconds later, Harry heard the front door slam closed. He flopped down on a floral couch and picked up a magazine lying on the coffee table.

Several minutes later, he heard a loud thump and some ragged coughing from behind the boards that were blocking the fireplace. Someone muttered a spell, and the boards came out from the wall, allowing Remus Lupin to come in to the room.

"Hello, Harry," said Remus, brushing off his robes. Harry looked at him. If Remus' appearance had once been called "haggard" there wasn't an adjective strong enough to describe him now. He was unnaturally thin, and his face was as pale as the moon that brought on his transformation each month. Dull eyes stared at Harry from deeply shadowed bags. His cheekbones protruded noticeably, and the cheeks were hollowed underneath them. Scars and nicks decorated his face, and it looked as though he hadn't bothered to shave in several days. A cough racked his body, and afterwards he gasped for breath. It was the worst sound Harry had ever heard in his life.

"Do you need a glass of water?" asked Harry, concerned.

"No…no, I'm fine, just a little cold I have," replied Remus. Harry was so tired of adults lying to him, but he didn't comment. "I see you're all ready…that's good." Harry nodded. "Well, let's go, shall we?"

Harry picked up his luggage and Lupin carried Hedwig's cage. Remus looked around suspiciously before whispering into Harry's ear, "You remember Grimmauld Place, right? Well, picture it in your head, as exactly as you can. Hold that picture while I throw the Floo powder in the fireplace." Harry remembered Grimmauld Place and tried very hard not to think of Sirius. Lupin threw the handful of Floo powder he had retrieved from his pocket into the fireplace. They stepped in. When Harry opened his eyes again, he saw a familiar dark, damp living room.

"Welcome home," said Remus, stepping out of the fireplace.

It wasn't home with Sirius gone. Harry remembered a conversation between him and Sirius in Harry's third year at Hogwarts.

"_I'll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle, but…well…think about it. Once my name's cleared…if you want a…different home…" fumbled Sirius, looking at the sky._

"_What – live with you? Leave the Dursleys?" asked Harry, beginning to feel a warm, tingly feeling in his stomach._

"_Of course, I though you wouldn't want to," Sirius answered quickly. "I understand, I just thought I'd—"_

"_Are you insane?" croaked Harry. "Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?"_

"_You want to? You mean it?" Sirius asked eagerly._

"_Yeah, I mean it!" _

Harry could still remember the complete transformation of Sirius' face—suddenly he saw the man that Sirius used to be, back when he was able to laugh. And for a few fleeting moments, Harry was completely happy. He wanted to live in that moment forever. How could he have known that it would never happen…how could he have guessed Sirius' fate…?

Harry's thoughts were broken by Remus' voice asking him if he wanted a butterbeer. Harry nodded.

"_Accio_ butterbeers!" chanted Remus. The aforementioned butterbeers flew into the room. Harry took one from Remus and sat down in a large, uncomfortable wooden chair. Remus did the same. Taking a sip from his butterbeer, Harry looked at Lupin.

"Why am I here?" Harry asked. He hadn't figured out yet why a place that Dumbledore had deemed so safe for him wouldn't be safe so suddenly. Fearing that it was some bad news about the war, Harry made eye contact with Remus.

"The Dursleys was no longer the safest place for you to be," replied Remus, obviously choosing his words carefully.

"Remus, I'm not unfamiliar with pain and death. I've certainly had my share of it these past few months. I think it would be best if you just told me the truth. I can handle it."

"Of course, Harry. You're absolutely right," replied Lupin, wearily. "As you know, the Second War is here. Voldemort has gained more power than we ever would have imagined fifteen years ago. All the members of the Order and many active members of the wizarding community are doing everything they can to help.

"Therefore, we had no one to spare to check up on you regularly. Arabella Figg is constantly away from her home. With all the attacks on Muggles, Voldemort would have no problem attacking the Dursley home, especially with you in it. That's why you've come here, where you will always be under supervision and are in a house that we believe to be unknown to Voldemort and his minions." Harry nodded along with Lupin, understanding the situation more clearly now. The upcoming war was no surprise to him. Bringing his butterbeer up to his lips, Harry took a big sip. "And, there is a delicate matter we have to attend to – Sirius' will." Harry choked on the hot liquid.

Spluttering and wheezing, Harry tried to regain control. Finally, he began breathing normally enough to say, "Sirius' will?"

"Yes. All of us, upon entering the Order, made a will because of the danger we'd be exposed to on a regular basis." Harry could tell Remus was struggling a little, and for the first time in several weeks, Harry realized that Sirius' death had been hard for more people than himself. He squirmed a little in his seat, realizing how selfish he had been.

"We'll probably begin on that tonight, Harry," continued Lupin. "We want to get it out of the way so we can focus on…other things."

"Yeah," replied Harry, halfheartedly.

"Harry," said Remus, leaning forward. He said the next part very cautiously, "How have you been?"

"Oh, me? Just fine. The only family I've ever known just died, but other than that I'm just peachy," he snapped automatically. Remus' face fell. He sighed heavily and rubbed his worn face with his hands.

"Harry," he said, softly. "Don't make the mistake of thinking you were the only one who cared for Sirius."

"Remus, I didn't mean…"

"No, Harry, you need to hear this. Sirius was the best friend that I had in the whole world. After James died, he was the only one I had. Without him…without him everything is different for me. Without Sirius, I've forgotten…I've forgotten what hope feels like. I..." Remus voice cracked. "I miss him so much," he finished, barely whispering.

Suddenly, a wave of emotion engulfed Harry. He felt again, felt like he hadn't in weeks. For once his mind wasn't filled with his own pain, but with another's. Harry got out of his chair and hugged Remus. They stayed that way for several minutes, each finding the healing they needed in the refuge that only friends can provide.

Afterwards, Harry dragged his trunk into the same moldy bedroom he had occupied during his last visit to Grimmauld Place. He began unpacking his trunks after letting Hedwig out into the fresh air. Finally, after about a half an hour of putting away his things, Harry had successfully moved into his new room. Looking at the bottom of his trunk, Harry spied a small piece of glass. Harry picked it up and cut his hand in the process. Sticking the wounded digit into his mouth, he looked at the shard in his hand. A small part of his nose was reflected in the glass, and Harry remembered. It was a piece from the two way mirror Sirius had given him. Since he had smashed it, Harry had not given it one thought. He was glad that a piece of it had stayed with him. He set it on the worn end table next to his bed and left the room to find Remus.


End file.
